There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


Rhymes with "routine," tastes like ass.

In attempting to educate the unenlightened about the joy of cheese curds, I found the following statement on a Canadian Web site:

Folks round Wisconsin crave curds like lobster.

Duh. Not really a revelation, you know. We also drink beer. And go ice fishing. And refrain from shaving for months at a time.

I also found this:

As many Canadians know, the white cheese curds are a key ingredient for Poutine, the dish with french fries, cheese curds and brown gravy.

I looked further for a "recipe" for this concoction, and I found that if you're mixing french fries and cheese curds together and smothering that mess in brown gravy, you don't really need any sort of guidance except maybe a tongue transplant or some emotional therapy.

This "dish" sounds like a nightmare Morgan Spurlock had. I am a proponent of unhealthy foods, but this just sounds gross.

Cheese curds should not be implicated, however, due to their peripheral involvement in this poutine fiasco.

These are cheese curds:

This is what makes cheese, minus some pressure and some time. Just because something rhymes with "turd" doesn't mean it's bad. I mean, do you eat birds? Probably. You use words, you are nerds, try some curds.

Today's death toll (so far): One snake

My kittens must be Irish. They spent last night hanging out in my next-door neighbor's house because he'd left his door open. They just strolled on in, meowed a lot, got lots of petting, then acted like they lived there.

The most disgusting thing that's happended today: The pedophile was taking his garbage out as I was getting into my car, and he had the poor judgment to WAVE AT ME. I just stared at him because I was stunned. Are we friends now? Are we happy, friendly neighbors who trade recipes and accept each other's UPS deliveries? Or are you still the guy with kiddy p0rn on your hard drive? Then don't wave at me, you wrinkled old perverted tottering sack of mostly water, or I'll rip your arm off and beat you with it.

Tonight's forecast: Mostly cloudy. Big, puffy, rolling tumbleweeds of black clouds made of dog hair. I bought a set of dog clippers to give Buster his summer haircut (his fur is so dense it burned out the motor on my last pair). So if you live anywhere in the south central US, I apologize in advance for the drifts of fur that will end up in your yard.

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birth & death